THE TYRANT IS AWAKE

"The world's a battle and you're my win."

Kizzie

Something is holding me back. Not metaphorically though. There's something that's holding me—more precisely my body—from leaving this bed.

Long fingers dig into my stomach, but I don't feel any pain, instead, there's a tingling sensation. Despite the room's cold temperature, the palm feels warm on my stomach, now I'm not sure if it's the heat my body is producing under his touch or it's just his natural temperature.

Though I would very much like to go with the latter.

I raise my hand lying limp beside me and pick up my phone from the side table—trying not to make any sound while doing so.

6:08

The bright light makes me shrink my eyes and slam the device on the bed face down. I remember using my phone the last time yesterday at noon when I was on duty to fetch the cat and mouse duo, that's why I'm a bit surprised by its eye-shutting brightness level.

But surprisingly, there are no missed calls from my beloved family members, and I believe it's because of whatever lies Dahyun must've darted their way. Not that I want to contemplate those—at least for now.

Finally, after sleeping 7-8 hours, I've been able to get the fog out of my mind and I don't want to clog it again by thinking of depressing matters first thing in the morning.

However, one occurrence I can't help but recall again is one that happened last night. And no, I'm not talking about Dylan this time. I don't think I should even be talking about him after what had happened to us. Instead, it's the man who has me clutched in his fists—both physically and mentally—I'm thinking about right now.

Frankly speaking, I feel like a person who walks in with the pure intent of correcting things but disastrously ends up destroying more. I mean who must've thought that I would commit another mistake when I'd gone to correct my mistake only?

Now when I say mistakes, I don't mean it the way some may conclude. The only mistake I've made with Dylan is to hide my genuine feelings from him and trust me I know that I'm stupid for apprehending it this late.

But what's the benefit of crying over spilt milk? 

What's done is done and I can't do anything except clean up the mess I have created with my foolishness.

Suddenly, I shiver, and the reason behind it is the fingers that have abruptly started crawling on my stomach, rubbing the skin with heat as they do so.

For a few seconds, I lay still, not daring to move an inch. My lips purse inwards. I feel like crying and laughing at the same time, the prior because it feels as if a giant spider is crawling under my shirt and the latter because the spider is tickling me now.

However, if I do any of the two it is just as obvious as my parents' love for each other that I'll be waking him up, which neither I nor he must want—perhaps.

Me because I want to postpone the upcoming and he... maybe for the much-needed rest after yesterday night's incidents.

I move as stealthily as it was possible because no matter how much I am enjoying the morning view—of his messed-up silver hair glittering under the sunlight, of his sleek brows finally appearing at ease and of his plump lips which are slightly apart since the second his head hit the bed—I also need to be back at my parents' home before they start spamming my phone with calls.

My feet hit the marble and as fast as I stood on my feet I was pulled back onto the bed.

"Mistakes so early in the morning baby angel," his hands swiped mine from my side and clutched them above my head, hovering above my body. "Lucky you that I had a good night's sleep, or I wouldn't have minded punishing you as my pre-workout."

Is it just me or has the room suddenly turned hotter? If not, then why am I burning up?

And I don't think the way he is scrutinizing me is helping me get any better.

It's as if he wants to engulf me whole and smother me with kisses simultaneously. The same look I'm used to seeing on my father whenever my mother is in his proximity. I swear that man's nothing but a caveman when it comes to Ma.

But unlike my Ma who has it all mastered—now call it experience or her kind of love—I'm still unable to hold the gaze of my man.

My man.

God.

I love the sound of that.

My tongue gradually moistens my lips before my teeth dig into them. And I guess I must've stayed in that position for a little too long because suddenly his throat was making weird animalistic sounds.

"You won't stop without taking your punishment now, will you, baby?"

As a response, I give a 'poor excuse' of an effort to free my hands from his grasp. "Stay still," his voice came out to be a lot huskier than his usual. The morning effect. God.

With one hand still clutching both hands above my head, he holds my nape with his free hand, lifting my face to his and kissing my forehead, my eyes, my nose, and my cheeks. 

"Morning, baby angel." The dark eyes stare at my lips for a second longer and I wonder if he's thinking of kissing me, instead his lips land at the corner of my lips.

"Morning," I all but purr in his arms.

His duality scares me sometimes. God bless me, but I don't even know whether it should even be called duality or not, because for sure there aren't only two sides to him.

Kim Taemin is like the sky. Sometimes clear, and sometimes so dense. He'd either be the soothing blue and white or the terrorizing black with sparks. He's home to both: the serene breeze and the catastrophic storm.

And I wonder if it would be called a sin if I were to announce that I'm in love with all his shades.

With his maturity.

With his fierceness.

With his calmness.

With his anger.

I love the man who had me pinned to the wall yesterday, and I love the man who took me in his arms when I could barely stand on my feet. I loved him when he had been a raging teen and I love him when he's a grown male. I love both his anger and his serenity.

I'm in love with this man to the extent that it has started to feel forbidden to me now.

It has always been forbidden, sweetheart. Don't forget Uncle Yoon's words.

As if I could ever forget that.

"Dad's alarm will go off at exactly 7. I need to be at home before he wakes up," I try to pull my hands and he lets me, resting his face on my stomach.

"Hmm. It means I can sneak into your room the next time before the tyrant is awake. Thanks for the information baby, I could've killed for it."

I scowl at his grinning face. "My dad isn't a tyrant. He is the sweetest person. Don't try to tell me otherwise. I won't let you," I imitate the face he makes when he's pissed but instead of mewling in the corner like I do, he laughs at my face.

You had one thing to do, and you couldn't even do it right. Shame on you Jeon Kizzie.

And I'm said to be the daughter of Asia's most feared mafia boss. Indeed, shame on me.

Not caring about my distress, he continues to laugh at me, even going to the extent of pulling my puffed-up cheeks. "Freaking adorable."

I huff and puff for a few more minutes before I take another look at the time.

6:30

I gasp, trying to get off the bed again. "Let me go Oppa. I need to leave." I try to push him away, but I'm no match for his size especially when he keeps on shoving himself more onto me—if it's even possible considering he's factually reclining on me.

"I'm starting to wonder if you like getting me all riled up angel. Because I thought I was quite clear yesterday. And if I wasn't then let me make it clear to you once again..." he is in my face the next instant, the black of his eyes staring into my greys. "You leave me, and I'll burn this world to ashes. But don't you worry because I will get you back, and when I do, I'll feast on it the same way I'll do on you."

Silence.

Long chilling silence.

I didn't realize I had stopped breathing long ago until I was forced to inhale again. For a moment I was thrown back to last night. In the same clothes, at the same place, under the same situation. Only one thing had been the same at that time too.

He and the feral look in his eyes.

Before yesterday I hadn't realized how sensitive the topic of my leaving was to him. But now I do, and it pains me. It both pains and scares me.

His dependence on my presence makes my heart ache and the untamed beast in him makes me scared for them who'll have to face him when I'll be away.

But he doesn't have to fear me leaving him anymore. I've left him once and I won't do it again.

"Sorry," he seems unaware at first but as the pieces begin to gather so do the lines on his forehead. He's off me with the same speed he had pushed himself on me.

"For what? For hurting me?" Though it sounds more like an answer than a question all I do is bob my head, peeping at him through the curtain of my hair.

"And do you regret it now?" He asks and I don't fail to see the tension ease out of his face as I again answer with a nod.

"I thought it would bring me some sort of comfort to hear you say that but unfortunately, it doesn't. You shouldn't have said that baby." The way he says that makes my heart recoil. I'm rooted to my place, clutched by the shackles of my mistakes when he speaks again, "It doesn't matter how much I try to keep this—us—together because at the end of the day, it would be you versus me, Kizzie. Not some lap dog of your father or your father himself but it would be you."

I want to scream at him and tell him that he isn't right, but my lips are glued together. I've let myself become a slave to my godforsaken words and I can't take them back to help myself. Still, each word that comes out of his mouth is like a bullet targeted at my heart.

He's holding onto his head, seated at the centre of his king-sized bed as I slowly slide to him. Encircling my arms around his abdomen which tightens at my graze, I rest my cheek on his stiff back.

"I... I am willing to fight for us, fight for what we have. I'm not going to keep standing in the corner as people try to separate us. I am going to fight for us." I choke on my words, eyes getting wet.

Subsequently, I'm pushed to the mattress again, my body jumping for a few seconds before it comes to a stop. My eyes are scrunched shut for some reason—which even I don't know—and there's a tingling sensation growing in my belly. His lips are on my ear the next instant and the tingles attain their max.

"And trust me, baby, when you will fight for us. You'll find me standing next to you, fighting with you and for you." A lone tear slips out of my eye, and he licks it away, grinning like a tormenter which he is.

"Damn it, I was so angry at you," he snuggles his nose into my neck, kissing and leaving a wet trail behind.

"Was?" I try not to laugh at the mess of his hair tickling my chin and swerving my face to the side, leaving a much vast space for him to lay kisses.

He hums in that husky voice of his before murmuring on my neck. "Was, for I can't stay mad at you for a longer time. My cells are too whipped for you." He darts a mean glance my way before gently—not so gently—biting on my neck.

I laugh. "There's nothing such as whipped cells."

"Of course, there is. It's my body and I know it. Don't try to tell me otherwise." He mocks, repeating my words and I hit his chest jokingly.

The air shifts inside the room from the open balcony door and traces my bare leg... why are my legs bare?

My eyes move down and all I see is limbs... and limbs.

A pair of pale and very much bare limbs tangled with sweatpants covered long legs—even his legs are so breathtaking.

Shut up, Jeon Kizzie.

I move my eyes away in haste and land them on the pools of black already staring at me. He's so gorgeous.

"You're so gorgeous," he says as if he could read my mind and my cheeks heat up. I fiddle with the ends of the shirt I'm wearing, unable to take my eyes off him while his own roam every inch of my face with an intensity I find hard to bear. 

His hands are on my face, cradling my cheeks and I suddenly become aware of where we are leading. I gulp but instead of backing off, I part my lips making him grunt. He plunges and the doorbell goes off before our lips can meet.

"Where is my fu... freaking gun?" He jumps off the bed muttering curses to himself and inhales deeply but as soon as I try to get off the bed, he's on me again.

"One day there won't be anyone coming between us. And then I'm going to take you far from here and make love to you up until you lose your mind and I lose every ounce of my breath."

——————————

Taemin

I hear a commotion going on as soon as I put my foot inside the living room.

The door of the penthouse is wide open in front of a half-asleep Dahyun. She's dressed in a sky-blue shirt, the hem of it touching her knees, and I'm assuming she must've found it in the closet of the guest room—only if she doesn't carry it in her pocket all the time.

On the threshold of the ajar door stands Woo-Shik ready in his three-piece suit with a bemused expression on his face.

Has this idiot lost his way to the office?

I take a detour towards the kitchen, raking my fingers through my hair. There's no way I'm tolerating his shit this early in the morning.

I get myself a cup of water. Leaving Kizzie on the bed—my bed—where she laid under my complete mercy has left me with a parched throat. And just because of these two idiots right here, I'll have to satiate it with water only.

Only if Dahyun wasn't Kizzie's dear friend and Woo-Shik wasn't mine. I swear I would've sold both to some fish market before they've had a chance to think of interrupting us again and again.

Only if.

I shut my eyes. Nope, I'm not letting these two ruin my good morning. Not any more than they've already done.

Hell, what I wouldn't do to see that look again on my baby's face. The drowsing need in her grey eyes, her cheeks redder than her lips that she insists on chewing on even after my so many warnings. And above all, the words she had said.

I didn't know that out of everything that she does and says it would be her fighting for us—our love—that'll get me as hard as was I a few minutes ago. But I'm in no wonder. She would be doing the most nothing out of the ordinary actions and I would be on my knees for her, every fucking time.

To be honest I've even stopped pondering on the why's behind it, long ago. Behind my unhinged love for her. Fuck it, I'm not sure whether it should even be called love or not. 

There are no rainbows in the sky whenever she is around. No one is playing piano in my head as she walks by. And no, I don't fucking feel any butterfly shit in my stomach when I see her. 

In its place, what I feel is stark pain in my chest when she's in my proximity. It starts from the extreme centre of my thorax and expands laterally. What I feel isn't poetic. I don't see her with rose-tinted glasses. And I'm not the hero who sacrifices himself to save everyone. I'm a bloody scoundrel. I see her and get overwhelmed with the need to have her. 

Though I could write poems for her if she wants—with someone's blood of course.

It is what it is. And it is going to stay as it is as long as she's alive and breathing because once she's gone so will I.

There's no me without her. There never will be.

Her scent engulfs me, and I'm pulled out of my thoughts.

"What's going on here?" Kizzie whispers as if the two dumbasses can hear her over their too-loud voices. 

With how loud they both sound I'd like to think they eat loudspeakers in their meals. Not that I care, they could engulf lava for all they want and all I'll be looking at is the girl in front of me.

She's still dressed in my shirt, the black silky material glistening under the white light. My eyes dart downwards, towards her bare legs. The shirt covers most of her—almost all since she's so small compared to me—but leaves the skin down her legs exposed, enough for some fucker to watch.

It's me.

I'm that fucker.

Because there's no way I'm letting anyone watch her like this.

"Nothing that doesn't happen every freaking day," I scoff, rolling my eyes at the way Woo-Shik is going crazy right now. 

Once I'm alone I'm seriously going to ponder the reason I made him the vice-chairman of my fucking company. Because, seriously, him?

Before I act in any way, Kizzie moves from my side, standing by Dahyun, watching their not-so-logical exchange almost comically.

"The owner of this place honestly needs to double-up the security or else not in a blue moon there's a chance they would've let a scrounger like you get it."

Though I'm the owner of this building and I genuinely doubt a security breach in here, I'm amused at her words. 

The building has seven army retired guards working inside and outside the apartment. All four of the openings and the exits are heavily guarded. From efficient metal detectors to substantially operative surveillance all around the building, there's no place short of safety here. 

In other words, there is no word such as ordinary for this place.

Ahem, cue the clapping sound.

However, Dahyun is yet to behold all of it herself given that I was the one escorting her or I'm a hundred per cent sure she would've been gunned down by my men if she had tried to enter the premises with the same attitude she held.

I mentally set a reminder for myself to tell her the same some other day and for now, focus on the insults she's throwing at Woo-Shik.

At least there's someone who knows his real identity besides me.

"Doesn't sound fitting from someone who's looking homeless herself," he pins an accusing finger at her with a scrunch of his nose. "And from which fucking angle do I look like a scrounger to you. For heaven's sake, it's fucking Dior." He whines.

The smile on Dahyun's face is all but kind as she roars at his face. "From every fucking angle, Mr Beggar."

The said beggar—Choi Woo-Shik—frowns and folds his hands at his chest. "Then I'd recommend getting your eyes checked Ms..."

The face he makes at the end would make someone think he can't manage to remember her name, but I suspect that. Considering his latest fascination with her, he could be an amnesia patient and forget his hell of a name but I'm uncertain he'll forget hers. But Dahyun didn't know the same and looked at him with piercing eyes as she gritted out her name, "Kim Dahyun."

"Tsk, another Kim. No doubt you've got a feisty mouth like this fucker over here."

Jokes on you, asswipe. She's nothing like me.

I'm one of a kind.

He takes a step forward towards her. "But why fear when Woo-Shik is here, I've got all the solutions to this problem. And the first one is..." The fucker is grinning ear to ear as he twirls a strand of her hair between his index and thumb, her body stiffening. "How about we change your surname to Choi?"

Any restraints she had put on her mouth a little earlier completely dissolved in thin air. The curses echo in the apartment one after another.

I am starting to consider buying a few earplugs for Kizzie if she thinks of continuing her friendship with Ms loudspeaker here. Her ears are too precious to me to be harmed. She entirely is.

"Quiet down you two, I've got a reputation to maintain—not something you two must know of."

I am considering banning Dahyun about 5 km from all my properties and taking away Woo-Shik's access to my penthouse when I watch Kizzie grinning at her friend. Her eyes formed into crescents and her lips curved upwards, hair falling around her face like curtains.

There is something so... domestic about the way she looks right now—the lazy look on her face, my clothes on her body and most of all, her being in my space—I felt like pinning her down and never letting her go, not like she has any chance of escaping me anymore.

She never had.

Just the thought of her leaving me has me turning my palms into fists. And before I throw a fit in my rage and slam the door on my dear friend and his dear muse, I dart a glance at the wall clock while I'm grasping Kizzie by her wrist and tag her with me to my room.

Time to blow off some anger.

"Get your ass in the car. I need to be somewhere." And someone needs to die. I leave it unsaid as I throw the words over my shoulder.

May the Lord bless that someone enough to bear my wrath.

Amen.

——————————

"Being with you for almost two decades, I'm certain I know you like the back of my hand, still I'm surprised each time, V," he grins at me from the driving seat. "I didn't have an idea of how romantic you are. Since when did 'I' in your dictionary start counting as 'Us'?"

I frown and don't conceal the bitterness when I say, "It doesn't. There's only 'Me' in my dictionary all I give a fuck about."

I'm trying my fucking best to contain it.

The anger.

The irritation.

The hatred.

Yet I can feel it all oozing out of me.

"The last I remember; I was the vice president of your company and not someone you can order to drive you around. I'm not your motherfucking chauffeur man." His fingers curl around the steering wheel.

I stifle a chuckle.

If there's anything I might love more than my baby angel is bringing the worst out of people.

People like Woo-Shik and my dearest brother; who like to obscure their 'corrupt' emotions the best they can and make it for most of the time.

Most. Not always.

Seeing him lose his cool helps somehow shelve the anger I was feeling a few seconds prior. It's close to bliss for me. 

Woo-Shik might appear as a composed person at a glance, more approachable among the two of us, but up close is where you'll see all the hard ridges within him. 

The darkness lingering behind his pupils, the ticks in his brain and ultimately the blood on his hand. He's simply better at hiding it than me—I don't even care to.

I'm not saying he's worse than me, he's just what he is.

"Being a chauffeur is a lot better than being a dead body, don't you think?" I'm grinning—solely to spite him—as I let the words fall off my lips. "Not to mention but I'm also your employer, so if I ask you to strip and do a pole dance in the middle of the road, you'll do as I fucking say."

The lines forming on his forehead thrill me, shove current up my spine the kind only Kizzie does. But before I can dwell any further on that excitement the car comes to a stop.

"Here you go, moron. Get your release." That I will.

I don't stop to answer him instead get out of the car almost in a hurry. I know there can—will—be a lot of chances to do this again, but I doubt I'll be able to contain my anger till the next time. Plus, there's no harm in giving a friendly warning. Innit?

The ridiculous locks on his head are easily recognizable from where I stand. His only sight is enough for me to feel that surge of anger again. I might be just a few steps away from him, but his nasty presence is all over me like smog.

Taking one long step at a time I pull my rings tighter on my fingers.

One ring and one step.

One ring and one step.

One ring and a punch on his face.

My sudden hit gets him and he's on the floor with just one strike of my fist—and yeah, I'm going to take pride in it later.

Knowing, Woo-Shik must have the authorities handled I don't mind the people watching us. That's all that they could do anyway. Watch. 

In this world, no one cares if you live or die, you're just a source of entertainment to them in one way or another, friend or not friends, it doesn't matter. And I know it doesn't matter to these people also. They'll watch, record, see it again, delete, and forget, but none of them will step out to help this dickhead mewling on the floor—not that I'll let them if they tried.

I don't keep a record of the punches I've thrown at him or the kicks that went straight to his ribs. Frankly, I don't care even if I break his ribs. He deserves at least that if not the painful death I've thought for him. And by the time I'm done—today—he'll have my initial embedded on his pretty fucking face.

Punch.

Crack.

Punch

Crack.

I take in the sounds of his cries like a drug, get high on it and get over it to take another fill of it. I do it repeatedly until I've let all my anger pour out on him. There's blood on my fists, more of his and less of mine, but I don't mind it, I soak it in like his cries and I still crave more.

"V, you're going to kill him at this rate. He's already unconscious, you shit." 

Hands pull me away from the body. A body, that's what he's to me. What he'll always be. Dylan Fucking Wang signed his death warrant the day he even considered having Kizzie and now I'm sending that with the date of his demise written on it in bold.

Wiping the blood on his clothes, I pry open his one eye with my fingers and once I'm sure Dicklan has a clear view of me—as clear as he could see in the state he is in, I bend over to whisper. 

"This was only the interest. But when the day comes to take the principal, I'll come back to you and when I do, I'll make certain you cry with every single breath you take and pray to die with each cut I make."

——————————

Jeon Mansion, Seoul

The creaking sound of the door would have alerted anyone inside the room, although there was none. The vacant room greeted the intruder with a gust of wind.

Letting the lids cover his eyes, Yoongi took a step inside the room lifting the cover off his eyes and regarding the room.

The bed set. Sheets unwrinkled. Not one misplaced thing. There was no sign of any encroachment.

Nothing that could justify Kizzie's absence from her room all night.

A line of concern settled on his forehead. His fingers diving in his pocket reaching for his phone, once again reading the text to make sure he was reading it correctly. And no matter how many times he did, the words on the screen didn't budge nor did they change.

There's no one at Ms Kim's place. Not even Ms Dahyun herself.

Kizzie has lied. Well technically not herself but through her friend. She has done something that wasn't admired by anyone in the household, especially not by her beloved father. However, Yoongi couldn't understand the reason behind her doing so.

It wasn't her thing. Hanging out in clubs at night, evading her guards and lying to her father. She wasn't one of those kids who thrived on getting themselves in trouble—not when trouble itself had adopted her in the name of her father. 

The father who was yet to be informed about his daughter's little escape at night like Yoongi wouldn't have if only the guards stationed for Kizzie's security hadn't found the stillness at Dahyun's place alarming and paid a visit to her house.

Now, the question in the spotlight was, where in the hell had Kizzie stayed last night?

The more he speculated in his mind, the more his anger increased. There can't be any possibility that she could have been with him, right?

His speculations troubled him to such an extent that he wanted to go and bombard Kizzie with questions about her whereabouts. But it seemed as if every man in the family was unable to even raise his voice, let alone scold her.

No, he didn't need to trouble his daughter, he could do it on his own otherwise there was no way he could still call himself the security chief of the entire Jeon clan and sleep with pride at night.

Sighing, his steps took him to the open window from where the breeze had entered and shamelessly slapped him on the face as if to scold him for entering someone else's room without their permission—which was exactly what he was doing.

As the wind picked up again and some things flew across the room, he closed the lock, turning just in time to see a paper falling from the bedside table. 

Picking it up, the faint musty smell of the paper joined the smell of Kizzie's room as he looked at the words written in blue ink on the page.

The paper crumpled in his hands as it struggled for its life, remaining intact after he was done reading except for a tear on the side from where he had grabbed it.

It was just the morning and Yoongi already had a lot of work waiting for him like dawn awaits the morning sun.

Task 1: Finding where Kizzie was last night and with whom?

Task 2: Getting that crocodile Dylan on his knees for hurting his daughter.

Task 3: Firing the guards who had failed the only task they had—guarding Kizzie.

But above all, what he had to do before even taking his next breath was brief the clueless King about the mishappenings in his territory taking place right under his nose and behind his back.

——————————

Yoongi wasn't known for abiding by so-called manners that we measly humans obey diligently. Not knocking on the door and announcing his presence beforehand mostly. 

He was like the scary spirits said about in books and feared in the movies, lurking in the dark and attacking at the most couldn't-be-envisaged times.

One reason why he was the security head of the Jeons.

Nothing was kept hidden from his eyes and nothing went unheard from his ears. Like the wind, he was everywhere in the Jeon Mansion and yet there was one place where none of his said security chief skills seemed to work.

And that was Jeon Jungkook's bedroom itself.

Stifling a groan, Yoongi banged his fist lightly on the door not anywhere near a knocking gesture earning himself a soft 'come in' from Yn. 

The discomfort that was causing his chest to tighten somewhat eased at the sound of his sister's voice and he plastered a slight smile on his face before entering the room.

"Morning Oppa," settling her brown eyes on him through the mirror she sat facing, Yn smiled.

Behind her stood her grinning husband raking his fingers through her wavy hair, feeling the softness of it against his calloused palm.

This was exactly what he craved. Mornings like this with the love of his life, playing around with kids in the noon, having tea with his brothers in the evening and sleeping with his family in his arms—but the opposite was what he always got and that only made him cherish such moments more.

And the reason why the grin departed his face and a frown deposited itself in its place as soon as he saw the worry marring Yoongi's face.

Jungkook took handful strands of her hair from the front and braided them neatly, combing the hair with his fingers now and then to prevent the formation of knots in them. He then collected all her hair in his fist and secured it at the back of her head in a ponytail leaving Yn marvelling at her husband's newfound talent—while the other male stood behind in stillness, doing his best in enjoying the few peaceful moments before the storm.

"Shoot whoever says your hair isn't great today. Got it?" The gravely said words instigated a laugh from her as Jungkook peppered her face with kisses.

Sliding off the stool, Yn stood on her toes encircling her hands around Jungkook's neck embracing him strongly.

"Oh yes, I will. After all my dear husband has spent a whole 30 minutes creating this masterpiece. How could anyone even dare to disrespect it?"

Jungkook chortled at that almost having forgotten that he had made Yn late for the breakfast to be made and served for the entire household, just for the sake of a simple hairstyle he wanted to try on her.

"Fuck yeah, I did. It suits you so much," he tucked a single hair that had somehow managed to escape the rubber band behind her ear and laid a lingering kiss on her forehead freeing her, for now, and finally heeding the distressed male.

"I'll get your food ready, Kookie," she chirped already halfway to the door letting his subsequent words float in the air.

"You're only taking it away baby."

——————————

Jungkook chugged the branded liquor, the burn of the liquid making his throat tickle. He wasn't one of those who anchored themselves to liquor and substances, especially not this early in the morning, but whatever had brought such a look on Yoongi's face this at the time of dawn would surely be much more bizarre to his ears and stressing on his sanity. 

And for now, the alcohol was going to be the anchor holding him back, fighting the burn awaiting with its own.

However, he was at the benefit of being at home. His wife was around and there were rarely—exceedingly rare moments—when Jungkook lost his calm before her, sworn by himself to never let the monster in him take the front seat when accompanied by his love and children. They didn't need to see that side of him more than they already had. Specifically, his wife, Yn. His prime anchor. Someone he wouldn't have minded having by his side especially at a time like this when he drastically needed her mental and physical support. But after having her late for breakfast by almost half an hour he was making an effort not to disturb her—for a few moments that being said. 

Later, he would have her spread in front of himself, breathing her soothing scent while unleashing his monster on her, on the same desk where Yoongi had dropped that paper.

Having seen the concern etched on the elder's appearance Jungkook had somehow known what kind of misfortune awaited him, therefore without any word being said he had directed the other male to his study, a place away from his bedroom and mainly his wife. 

Their bedroom being the only place where Jungkook would be at his most calm, he didn't want to mar that image with whatever reaction Yoongi's words would bring out of him. He hadn't wanted the darkness of his taint another innocence of his wife. 

That room was a shrine where he worshipped her in broad daylight and the quiet nights. It was their place—and he wanted to keep it as it was.

Somehow, even without peeking at that paper, Jungkook had known what it was or could be. The past months there has been nothing but one—one fucking person—who had kept him awake for most of his nights. 

The danger he once thought as of the size of a grain has turned out to be a fucking heap beneath the surface, more grains getting added to it over the days. Now he berated himself for taking things lightly in the first place.

Stiff fingers held the letter in between them showcasing the barely held-back disgust he felt at the shit he was seeing. 

Like an overflowing vessel, disgust rolled off him in the form of bits of paper which now laid before him on the marble, some still floating in the thin air, and once the disgust had its end, blinding rage occupied his dark eyes. 

The tumbler once held in his hand, found its new platform on the marble floor along with the letter—shattering into pieces.

Things were getting out of his hands now. And to the extent that he was starting to dread his daughter's future.

But it's never the end before the absolute, is it?

Kim Taemin had blatantly underestimated Jeon Jungkook and the latter was now going to prove to him the reason why he was one of the deadliest men alive. 

Even if that costs him a bloody war.

"Time to let the hunt begin." The pieces of glass crushed beneath his shoe as his lips moved monotonously.

'Watch out, Kim Taemin because this time... you're the prey.'